Sacrifice
by Starbuck
Summary: Our eyes met for only a moment before he turned. He didn’t speak as he crossed the apartment to the door. With a final glance in my direction, he reached for the handle.


Author: Emily Todd Carter  
Title: Sacrifice  
Category: Post-Ep for Existence, MSR  
Spoilers: Existence  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Our eyes met for only a moment before he   
turned. He didn't speak as he crossed the   
apartment to the door. With a final glance in my   
direction, he reached for the handle.  
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I don't own much of   
anything, so suing me won't do you much good  
Feedback: starbuck23_ds@hotmail.com I live for   
feedback of any sort! Be honest!  
  
~**~  
  
"Shhhhh," I murmured gently into the ear of my   
crying infant. His incessant wails pierced the   
silent stillness of the bedroom. "Shhhhh, don't   
cry. It's alright, it's okay. Shhhhh. Mommy's   
here."   
  
I tenderly patted his back as I paced from my bed   
to his crib, clutching him tightly to my chest.   
His cries continued, despite my relentless efforts   
to soothe him. William had refused feeding, sleep,   
and a number of other comforts. My exhausted body   
yearned for the luxury of my feather mattress, but   
I couldn't bear to wake Mulder again.  
  
He had finally dozed off after staying up to help   
with William for the past thirty-six odd hours.   
Both of us drugged with cup upon cup of expresso,   
we had soon discovered exactly how draining the   
act of caring for a child could be. I smiled,   
recalling Mulder's final words before he had   
drifted to sleep:  
  
"I can't remember if I've ever been so exhausted   
and so happy at the same time. It's almost… almost   
like I don't want this moment to end, Scully. Wake   
me…wake me up…in ten minutes. Don't…don't let me   
sleep…"  
  
Of course, I had denied him his request. Mulder   
hadn't slept in days, always watching William as I   
rested, fixing my meals, catering to my every   
need. He had refused to sit down, much less sleep,   
and I had practically threatened him into taking a   
nap. The alarm clock resting on my bedside table   
flashed 4:20 A.M. William had not stopped crying.  
  
His diaper was clean. His stomach was full. The   
room was warm and he wasn't sweating. I had sung.   
I had kissed and cooed and fed and cleaned and I   
was on the verge of calling my mother yet again   
for another solution to attempt.  
  
But, reflecting Mulder's emotions, I couldn't   
recall a time in which I had ever felt so content   
in all my life.  
  
I had never been so completely in love.  
  
With my son in my arms and his father breathing   
softly from the nearby bed, I found myself willing   
to give my life for this single moment, for these   
last few days. Life as I knew it had never   
achieved such a state of perfection.   
  
Yet, somehow, I knew. It was a realization   
suppressed in the depths of my mind, but I knew.   
This day wouldn't last forever. My happiness was   
fleeting, my satisfaction only temporary.   
  
It seemed almost --too perfect--.   
  
The simple fact that Mulder was sleeping astounded   
me. Insomnia had consumed him since his return,   
situating him in a form of sleepless daze,   
emptiness in his gaze in place of its previous   
intensity. His complexion was drained, revealing   
the scars adorning his face.  
  
I feared those scars, those symmetrically arranged   
abrasions upon his pale cheeks, had instigated his   
insomnia. They served as a constant reminder of   
the emptiness I knew he suffered each time he   
glanced at a passing mirror. Emptiness derived   
from too many unanswered questions to even begin   
to ask.  
  
A sudden rise in the decibels of William's wailing   
stirred Mulder from his slumber. Slowly rolling   
over on his side to face me, he yawned and   
complained over the noise, "Scully, you were   
supposed to wake me."  
  
I smiled and nodded, gently cooing into my son's   
ear.   
  
"Go back to sleep, Mulder."  
  
"I'm not tired," he lied.  
  
I glared at him with my notorious piercing stare,   
challenging him to argue further. He avoided my   
eyes and swung his lengthy legs over the bed to   
meet the cream-colored carpet. Slowly rising, he   
smoothed his wrinkled gray t-shirt and ran his   
fingers through his copper hair with another yawn.  
  
Mulder approached me and, extending his open arms,   
accepted the crying child. A little awkwardly, he   
eventually had William situated with comfort in   
his embrace, gently beginning to sway and wrapping   
him snugly in his blue cotton blanket.   
  
"Shhh, come on, now. Shhh, no more crying. Come   
on, Will, let's stop crying for your mom, here,   
okay?"  
  
William refused.  
  
"Shhh. Hey, you don't want me to have to sing, do   
you? Awww, come on, Will, don't make me sing."  
  
Mulder glanced up from the baby, inviting a   
suggestion. I smiled, crossing my arms and   
awaiting the inevitable.   
  
"Well, I guess I have no choice now, buddy. If   
only your mother would bless us with a gift of   
song?"  
  
I hastily refused with a slight shake of my head.   
I smiled again, encouraging him to continue.   
Mulder resumed his gentle swaying and rocking of   
the infant, gazing into his tiny half-open eyes as   
if his mind was elsewhere.  
  
After several further moments of silence, Mulder's   
deep voice softly began to fill the air, with   
clear tones almost in tune. His song was barely   
audible, yet I distinctly heard it across the   
stillness of the bedroom.  
  
And, eventually, William's cries subsided to a   
quiet yawn. His flailing arms fell sleepily to his   
sides and his eyes gently closed, welcoming the   
reward of peaceful slumber. Mulder glanced in my   
direction before padding across the width of the   
room to the crib. He lifted the sleeping infant   
slowly, as not to wake him, over the railing and   
carefully laid him inside.   
  
I can never be sure of the exact words whispered   
then. Perhaps my mind has simply created this   
memory, perceived its existence for the sole   
benefit of having an image to help me survive   
these subsequent lonely nights. But, as Mulder   
leaned over the railing of the crib that night, I   
almost distinctly heard the whispered words  
  
"I love you."  
  
Acceptance. True, pure, simple and complete   
acceptance. I realized at that moment, that had   
Mulder not, in fact, accepted this enormous change   
in the both of our lives that his acceptance had   
finally come. With that simple expression, he had   
received William as as much a significant part of   
his life as I had come to be.   
  
And, at that moment, as I watched the two of them,   
my perspective began to transform. Mulder wasn't   
standing over --my-- son, subconsciously matching   
the rhythm of his deep breaths with that of   
William's tiny ones. He wasn't gazing intently,   
oblivious to everything around him, at --my--   
baby, Scully's miracle child that only God in all   
of his endless mercy could have provided. William   
was his son as well, if not conceptually, then at   
least in our perception. Was it simply that I   
hadn't realized it before? Mulder had accepted   
fatherhood.  
  
He broke his gaze and turned his head in my   
direction, slightly jerking it as an invitation   
for me to join him. I consented and silently   
crossed the expanse between us. Approaching the   
crib, I rested my forearms on the railing. The   
silence was mutual, an unspoken understanding, as   
we watched William sleep.  
  
Mulder shifted his weight uncomfortably. I   
registered the signal as his trademark display of   
indecisiveness, his natural way of expressing that   
something important was weighing on his mind. I   
continued not to speak, allowing him the time   
necessary to address the issue at hand.  
  
He breathed sharply, as if intending to speak, and   
paused. I felt him search the darkness for my   
hand, eventually finding and grasping it with his   
own. He spun his head gradually to meet my eyes.   
His expression was empty, entirely devoid of   
emotion, a look to which I had grown accustomed   
but had come to fear. He glanced across the   
bedroom towards the doorway and I nodded,   
understanding.   
  
I reached into the crib and pulled the blanket to   
touch William's chin, triggering a tiny yawn. I   
watched Mulder smile and matched his grin as he   
led me slowly away from the crib and around my   
bed, into the light of my den. I quietly closed   
the door behind us as my eyes adjusted to the   
brightness.  
  
The room appeared to have experienced a virtual   
tornado, with coffee mugs, diapers, and "It's a   
Boy!" balloons scattered everywhere, bathed in a   
blizzard of baby powder. Shower gifts, reminders   
of the yet-to-be written thank-you notes, and   
flowers adorned the kitchen table. Evidence of   
Mulder's take-out Chinese and pizza boxes lined   
the counters.  
  
The lamp beside the couch cast a subtle glow upon   
the carpet. Mulder left my side and took a seat   
upon the cushions, resting his elbows on his knees   
and his face in his hands. He slowly massaged his   
temples, inhaling deeply.  
  
I crossed the room and stood above him, unsure of   
the next approach to make. Should I remain silent,   
inviting him to convey his thoughts? Or, should I   
instigate the conversation, allowing him to arrive   
at the object of his rumination? I decided quickly   
upon the latter, commencing with the classic   
inquiry:  
  
"What's wrong, Mulder?"  
  
His head turned, hands remaining in place, eyes   
meeting mine, lips curving upward into a smile. He   
remained silent for a brief moment, his expression   
almost one of amusement. Finally, he spoke:  
  
"Scully, we both know I can't stay here."  
  
I didn't reply, yet held my gaze. The statement   
had, of course, been all but consuming our   
thoughts for the months since his return, but had   
remained unspoken in a silent pact. Why address   
the issue when it hadn't seemed entirely   
necessary? Why approach the problem when letting   
it quietly assume its place in the depths of our   
minds was a much simpler solution? But, despite   
our neglect to verbally recognize the fact, it was   
true.   
  
And, as we had addressed so many issues of   
importance in the past, we allowed the silence   
between us to continue. Words were unnecessary; we   
both already knew what the other would say should   
conversation arise.   
  
So I sat down beside him, like so many times   
before, assuming a similar position to his and   
concentrating on the fibers of the carpet. This   
perfect moment. These last perfect days. Like a   
dream from which I was then awakening, they were   
vanishing before my eyes, soon to become a hazy   
memory in the back of my mind.  
  
"Scully, I know you need answers just as much as I   
do," he started, shattering the stillness of the   
room with a voice quavering and unsure. I locked   
eyes with him once again, offering support and   
encouragement to continue. "All these years we've   
spent searching for answers. Answers to questions   
we --haven't-- been afraid to ask. But, it's   
different now, Scully. Things have changed. I-I've   
got so many questions now that I'm afraid to ask   
simply because I have a feeling that their answers   
will only take me away from you…and William."  
  
He paused.  
  
"I don't ever want to hurt you like that again."  
  
I drew a breath sharply, closing my eyes as his   
words sank in.   
  
"I know this doesn't make sense now, Scully, but I   
hope someday you'll understand."   
  
He paused again, inviting a reply. I offered   
nothing of the sort, untrusting of my capability   
to maintain my composure. I mentally fought my   
heart, fought the tears threatening to fall by   
keeping closed eyes.   
  
I felt the couch rise beside me as he stood,   
dwelling nearby as I sensed his eyes resting on   
me.   
  
"I think they returned me, Scully, let me come   
home, for him," he said, referring to our sleeping   
son in the adjacent room. "I was meant to find you   
that night, meant to get you to that hospital.   
They let me come home to save him.  
  
So-so that you wouldn't have to be alone."  
  
I forced my eyes to open, restraining my tears,   
and stared deeply into his, searching. What was he   
getting at? Alone when? What did this mean?   
  
"Scully, they're coming back for me. I can feel   
it. I can still hear their voices, still see them   
in flashes. It won't be much longer, and there's   
nothing you nor I can do to avoid them." He   
hesitated briefly, taking a step towards the room   
in which William slept. "But I can protect –you--,   
Scully. And I can keep them away from –him--."  
  
Mulder then turned decisively towards the spare   
room containing his overnight bag and clothes. Too   
decisively. If he was determined to leave then,   
convincing him otherwise would take heavy   
persuasion on my part. I arose and followed him   
quickly into the bedroom, swallowing my fear and   
mounting anger. There was no possible way I was   
going to allow this to happen.  
  
"Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?"   
I cried, not quite loud enough to wake the resting   
baby. I stood, blocking the doorway, as he began   
to fold his clothes into the large black bag. He   
ignored me, continuing to pack.  
  
"Mulder, I don't think you understand. You have --  
no idea-- what kind of pain you put me through the   
last time you disappeared."  
  
"And you have no idea how much pain I'm putting –  
myself-- through at the moment, Scully. Don't   
think I don't need you as much as you need me."  
  
I stepped further into the room.  
  
"That's just it, though, Mulder. We've fought   
everything else together, why not this?"  
  
He continued to pack without a reply, hustling   
into the bathroom and returning with his   
toiletries, which he quickly stashed in a side   
pocket of the bag.  
  
"Answer me, damnit, Mulder! Why the hell are you   
leaving me here alone if I need you? Why the hell   
do you think you can just –leave-- me here? I –  
need-- you, damnit, Mulder. More than-" I paused   
and breathed, choking back the tears.   
  
"More than William? Do you need me more than him,   
Scully?" He had stopped packing and was staring at   
me across the darkened room, his figure a   
silhouette against the wall.   
  
"He's your son, Scully. He's everything you've   
ever fought for, --we've-- ever fought for.   
Scully, I'd rather die than see him taken from   
you."  
  
"What are you getting at, Mulder? No one's taking   
William from me."  
  
"But that's just it, Scully. It's what you don't   
realize. This is why I've got to leave! If--when--   
they come back for me, whoever the hell they are,   
it may not be just –me-- they want."  
  
He hefted his bag from the bed and swung it over   
his shoulder, crossing the room to approach me at   
the doorway. I met his eyes for a brief moment,   
searching yet again for answers. I only found his   
tears, fresh yet beginning to form tiny rivers as   
they flowed over his cheeks.  
  
Mulder hastily cast his head to the side,   
concentrating his gaze on the ground. He had   
inadvertently displayed weakness as he fought to   
remain strong and steadfast to his motives. His   
hand drew to his face, attempting to obscure the   
light.  
  
I reached out suddenly, grasping his broad   
shoulder.  
  
"Mulder, if you claim to be willing to sacrifice   
everything for me, for William," I started, my   
hand steady, before he interrupted.  
  
"Scully, please—"  
  
"And if I'd rather give my life than live one   
without you," I continued.  
  
"Scully, don't do this—"  
  
"Then, why abandon me, leaving me to fight these   
battles on my own, Mulder? Can't you see that   
they've known all along you'd do this, even   
planned it this way? They've tried to separate us   
before, Mulder. Please don't let them win this   
time."  
  
He remained silent, refusing to reply, and nudged   
past me and through the doorway, proceeding to   
William's bedroom with his bag.   
  
I didn't follow. It didn't seem necessary.   
Mulder's decision had been made, and I was   
powerless against a mind so resolute. Any attempts   
on my behalf to persuade him to stay were certain   
to prove futile.   
  
Mulder was leaving me.  
  
With questions.  
  
Alone.  
  
--Again.--  
  
He exited the room after a brief moment and paused   
in the dimly lit doorway, staring at my silent   
figure from across the expanse. I returned his   
gaze, capturing the image in my mind.  
  
Mulder had adorned his characteristic leather   
jacket over his gray t-shirt. His hair was tousled   
and his pants were wrinkled, but, above all else,   
I can still recall the pain upon his face. His   
eyes screamed silently as they took a final scope   
of the apartment, as if begging to stay. But, as   
he came into the light, I noticed his dry cheeks,   
the tears no longer present. He stepped away from   
the darkened room, away from his son, away from   
his remuneration for our years of struggling and   
searching, and stopped.  
  
I was barely able to draw a breath before he had   
covered the space between us. He stood before, or   
rather above, me, and locked his gaze with mine.   
Gently, his hand rose to stroke my cheek, soaked   
with the tears I no longer suppressed. He silently   
shook his head.  
  
And then, firmly yet tenderly, he drew his lips to   
mine. I made no response, although allowing him to   
linger there for a moment longer before I pulled   
away.  
  
Our eyes met for only a moment before he turned.   
He didn't speak as he crossed the apartment to the   
door. With a final glance in my direction, he   
reached for the handle.  
  
"How will I reach you, Mulder?" I asked, my voice   
quivering.  
  
He shook his head slowly and apologetically. I   
nodded, understanding.  
  
He turned the brass lock and knob, quietly opening   
the door.  
  
"I'll never let them win, Scully."  
  
And, as abruptly as he had arrived, he left once   
again.  
  
William began to cry from the bedroom.  
  
FINIS 


End file.
